Keeper Potter
by Kung-lou
Summary: Betrayal leads to a new beginning a new path for revenge


**Title:** Keeper Potter  
**Author name:** Kunglou

**Author email:** AU  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** A betrayal leads to a new beginning a new path for revenge

**Author notes: HP/Dungeon Keeper AU, OC **

**Chapter 1: To be betrayed**

"They talk of a man betraying his country, his friends, his sweetheart. There must be a moral bond first. All a man can betray is his conscience."

-Joseph Conrad

Harry swept in the command tent in disgust. His cloak billowed behind him and his combat armour was pock marked and gouged, a sign of the desperate fighting that he had just come from. The adrenaline rush that came from frantically fought and bloody combat failed to hide the tiredness in his limbs but the fact that they had cornered the dark lord Voldemort and his last remaining cohort elated him and he had strength enough to finish him today.

The civil war that had been simmering since before he had been born between two distinct groups within wizarding society, groups that held diametrally opposed ideologies had blown up into viscous fighting, would be finally over. But instead of storming the last stronghold of the enemy with his armies, he had been recalled for one final briefing by the ministry. 'Incompetent, interfering fools, I will be glad to let them wallow in their own filth when this is over,' he thought with a sneer.

"Lord General Potter, the plan is going as planned, the Centaurs have annihilated the Acromantula's, Units 22 and 35 have easily taken out the stray Vampires and the goblins have warded the fortress and its surrounds so tightly that there is little chance of Voldemort slipping the net again.

Fliers along with the dragons we have on loan from the goblins have full control of the local airspace and it doesn't look like any further forces are on route, but we will continue to have you updated."

Nodding at the officer that intercepted him upon entering, Harry's gaze was drawn to the ministry of magic and his accompanying officials that had called him from the battle field to assuage their own self importance.

'The fools don't know the first thing about war, the suffering and the sacrifice, the pain and death. All they care about is their own bureaucratic power and numbers on the top of a page,' Harry thought darkly. 'More times than I can count, we have lost valuable assets by their meddling.'

An incredibly detailed illusion of the battle field that hovered in the air at the centre of the command tent, occupying the officers that actually worked at HQ as opposed to the useless men that had come for political reasons. It was one of the innovations that he was most proud of during this conflict, an innovation that had transformed how he had fought the war.

Complete with troop movements and real time updates of casualties and confirmed kills, the illusion and the wizard that helped create it, was one of the more useful assets in this war. While the ability to generate illusions on such a large scale and detail was rare, it was also vital to the waging of any large scale war. Command over the battle space and an overarching situational awareness was essential, nothing killed quicker than a pervasive fog of war and a lack of credible intelligence.

"Minister, why am I here" he hissed in an effort not to snarl "I have little doubt that the plan WAS working as I had planned it, and would have continued to work had YOU not interrupted such a sensitive operation, I have been doing this for ten years now. Why am I here and not out there killing the darkest lord in the history of the British Isle's?"

And he had been doing this for ten years he realised, ever since he had left school early to pursue a more combat oriented apprenticeship. Pursuing Voldemort had given him some hard and nearly fatal lessons in combat, ward and curse breaking and the ability to plan and execute a hard fought skirmish with what resources he had available while providing a swift understanding of the gap in experience and knowledge between Voldemort and himself.

That vast gap had forced him to trawl the same dark path for power that Voldemort had fifty years ago in an attempt to even the odds. The only difference had been that he had been able to avoid several of the mistakes and missteps that the dark lord had made over the years, maintaining his mind and sanity in the process.

In fact, he doubted that Voldemort had even heard of some of the areas of magic that he had delved deeply into and that knowledge and the results of those studies would be his ace in the hole when he fought the powerful and self proclaimed dark lord. It still amazed him that through luck, fate and design, he had not directly confronted the dark lord but soon that would no longer be true.

At one point he had thought it might have come down to that dual between them, a direct confrontation to decide upon the fate of the wizarding Britain, but over the last five years that the conflict had run, it started to grow beyond the simple skirmishes between his own allies, the Order of the phoenix and Voldemort's ever growing armies of dark creatures and sometimes darker wizards. In hindsight, it was almost inevitable that it would come to civil war with the dichotomy in both sides' ideologies.

With the expansion of the conflict into a full blown civil war, the ministry had an increasing hand in the running of the war. When the ministry begun to increasingly interfere in the war, the war really became confusing and Harry begun to lose the ideals he had started with. Despite the increasingly dark path he was treading and his personally trained army, he would never consider overthrowing the ministry or putting himself in charge. No, he would much prefer to see them destroyed by the mess that they themselves created. It would be far more amusing.

Enough of his troops and resources had already been lost to the conflict with the Dark Lord and he would not lose even more to a pointless contest with the annoyingly incompetent wizarding government. Besides, he had little doubt that he would be quickly declared the next dark lord and the chaos that would erupt between two openly fighting dark lords in Britain would only favoured Voldemort.

He was simply powerful enough to exist beyond the reach of the ministry, it was a mere political curtsey that he involved them at all.

'Sometimes,' he thought 'I wonder if the only reason I fight for these fools is because of an old grudge and a prophecy.' The prophecy ensured he kept fighting and his history with the Dark Lord ensured that he never forgot why he fought. But his time fighting had embittered him to the corruption and decadence of the society he fought for and he already had a plot of land earmarked for when his part in this war was finally over.

"Lord General Potter," the minister replied in a smug and superior tone, ignoring Harry's earlier barely restrained snarl without blinking. "The dark lord isn't going anywhere and I thought you could use this time to give a briefing to the other heads of departments."

Harry looked at the Minister in shock, disgust and amazement. Men and women were dying on a battle field that had yet to be cleared, combat operations were still in progress and Voldemort was still waiting with his inner circle and in control of who knows what magic, and the minister wanted a briefing. This battle could still be lost, he above all, would never underestimate the canny dark lord.

This time Harry did snarl in disgust and again he wondered what kept him fighting as he allowed the feel of his magic to flood the room. The men and women from the ministry, department heads and supposedly the most the best the ministry had to offer, in front of him knew little of power beyond the pushing of pens and the counting of numbers. They had let there magic atrophy and they buried their heads so far into their own propaganda that they could rarely think of anything else.

They truly were creatures deserving of pity.

"Make sure General Weasly, Headmaster Dumbledore and my personal shock troops are ready for combat by the time I get to the entrance of that fortress. Expect casualties." Harry snapped out, turning his back on the minister and his department heads before he felt the overwhelming urge to do the wizarding world a favour and exterminate the lot of them while they were in one place.

Not even waiting to see if his orders were carried out, he stalked towards the battle field. Fighting still flared around the fortress as conjured defences attacked unwary troops and hordes of undead suddenly sprung from the ground, the churned and muddy fields that saw the most intense fighting in months were still too booby trapped to have cleared of bodies and the smell was almost overwhelming to the unprepared nose.

He was also sure that castle, the last stronghold for the greatest dark lord in history would be so full of traps that storming the place would prove suicidal. But that's exactly what he planned to do; he would lead his troops directly into the breach and finish this today. This conflict had gone on for far too long in his view.

They had trained and prepared relentlessly for exactly this kind of scenario, he always doubted that Voldemort would go down easily or without a fight. Particularly on a ground of his choosing but at this stage of the war it was almost impossible for the final battle to be anywhere else.

"Harry, the minister is trying his best to manage the close of the war and has a firm eye on the aftermath." The deceptively gentle and unwelcome voice of Albus Dumbledore said from behind him. "You must learn to work with him and turn your back on this dark path that you are treading for the good of us all."

Eyeing the old man in repulsion, he restrained the urge to wipe that patient look of his old face. This was war, some sacrifices had to be made, some risks taken and the old man had no idea how much he had sacrificed for this conflict, power was never without its price and the power he had gained had claimed its own hefty share.

Besides, the order of the phoenix had been only slightly more competent that the ministry in the running of this war. The only reason Dumbledore was even here was because he remained an extraordinarily powerful wizard. Still, even as he knew that he needed to keep the old man on his side, he could barely suppress his increasing repugnance at his attitude.

"Potter, enough with the delays, lets go and finish this." Ron's scarred face commented from amongst the professionally trained shock troops, cutting of any reply he may have had for the old man. Harry just nodded, the war had not been easy on Ron or his family and the red head still respected the headmaster enough not to want to see him in conflict with the light side's poster child.

Not that he was as pure as most of his adoring public thought him to be. The media was a tremendous asset to have on your side, his image as the great conquering general did wonders for his ability to avoid dealing with the ministry.

"Men, we have trained for this, prepared as best we were able. I don't have to remind you that this is not the time for anything fancy or taking prisoners." Harry did his best to ignore the glares that he was getting from Ron and Dumbledore, "just put them down hard and we may all live in a terror free Brittain by the time the sun rises on the morrow."

After ten years at war, this is how he fought and this is exactly what had led them to this place. Voldemort bunkered in a heavily defended castle about to be stormed by the combined armies of the ministry, the order and his own unique allies. Ron on behalf of the ministry and Dumbledore, representing the Order of the Phoenix had no right to criticise his methods based on his results.

"Move out."

With a flick of his wand he blasted a hole through the side of the castle and nodded at his men. They knew what to do, they had been through scenarios such as this before and as they streamed through the hole he cold only nod in satisfaction as his men disable and subdued efficiently and often fatally any opposition they encountered. No wasted energy.

Only the dead remained in their path, scattered amongst trashed traps.

"Ron, Albus, shall we kill ourselves a dark lord," he quipped darkly with a sadistic smirk before he followed his troops into the booby trapped castle, completely missing the dark look that the two men exchanged behind his back. The second in as many minutes.

'Voldemort would be on the top floor', he thought, feeling much more in his element 'he always was a melodramatic bastard for a dark lord.'

The trail of bodies and destruction were as easy to follow as the screams and sounds of battle, he had trained his troops well and equipped them with the best equipment, funded from his own vaults, but they knew that for there to be any resolution in this conflict then they needed to get Harry to Voldemort for one last show down. As powerful as he was, not even he could fight his way in, through the booby traps and in a grand finale, finish of the dark lord.

Still, as well trained as his troops were, and as well equipped, he still counted casualties. What remained of his heart hardened as he passed the bodies of men he had shared good times with and fought beside, yet he felt little sorrow. They knew the risks and it was naïve to think that no-one would die in war. Harry had lost his naivety a long time ago. He did mourn the time it would take to bring his troop back to full strength again however.

That they died for the wizarding world that cared little for their sacrifice was appalling and such a waste. Men and woman as trained as his troop was should never be thrown away; such assets should be treasured and used in a way that payed the maximum dividends. To do anything else was short sited at best or a demonstration of idiocy at worst.

Ron and Dumbledore followed on his heels, they would be vital for when he faced off against Voldemort. He doubted that he would be alone and as powerful as he was, he did not doubt that the canny dark lord would try to pull something unexpected. Training and power aside, politics ensured that the two powerful wizards behind him would be there to witness the conclusion of this war.

Harry erected the strongest magical barrier he could the instant he felt a massive surge of magic behind him. Spinning around, his wand extended and several offensive curses at the tip of his tongue, he was just in time to see two stone manticores leap out of the wall and attack Ron and Dumbledore. Harry cursed himself for having missed the trap, but felt somewhat relieved that he was not the only one.

Neither Ron nor Dumbledore had been expecting the attack, though he appreciated the calmly efficient manner in which they eliminated the threat and disabled the trigger so that other less prepared wizards would not be caught. Even their disgustingly passive light magic's had been honed into a dangerous weapon by this war. "Shall we proceed," Harry commented dryly when the two wizards had finished, "as melodramatic as Voldemort is, he will be waiting for us with his inner circle and practicing his taunts."

Harry continued to stalk down the rough stone corridor as if the nothing untoward had happened, it was doubtful that such a simple trap would have proved fatal for any of them. As much as he disliked admitting it, Dumbledore and Weasly almost rivalled him in magical power. But he would not allow such things to distract him, the fight he was mentally preparing himself for was unlikely to be like anything he had thus far experienced. He couldn't wait. In fact, he felt more excitement and anticipation than he had felt in years.

It didn't take long to catch up to what remained of his personal guard. Cut down as much as they were, from fifty men to a mere eleven, they still maintained a high level of professionalism and Harry swore that Voldemort would pay for such a waste of the effort it had taken to train these men up. Preferably in the most painful and prolonged manner possible, 'and I have just the curses in mind' he thought with a cheery grin. It had taken him years to build up and train his guard to the effective and loyal killing machine it had become and it would take at least another year to build them up to full strength again.

"Lord General, the target has been confirmed to be inside with an unknown number of supporters, strong wards prevent a more accurate accounting and standing orders prevent any measure that may result in direct conflict with the dark lord."

What remained of his men stood at attention, fist clenched to their chests in salute and head bowed. Their loyalty proven countless times through blood and tears. On the odd occasion he wondered what would happen to these men when the war was over and he disappeared from the wizarding world's map. He had provided all their training and equipment, he had forged them into what they were today, how would they manage in a world without Voldemort.

Would he find a use for them? Probably, but it was a random thought often disregarded in favour of the next offensive or the latest intelligence report and until Voldemort was dead it was a moot point. The canny dark lord may yet mastermind another escape as he had done so numerous times in the past.

"Very well, shall we." Harry asked gesturing to Ron and Dumbledore as he purposely strode towards the room to face off against the Dark Lord that had plagued him for so long and cased him so much pain.

Unsurprisingly the doors opened freely, without a hint of dark magic, to a large throne room. Getting in would be the easy part after all. Voldemort sat regally on a cast iron throne surrounded by his last surviving inner circle, waiting for his arrival. The time of prophecy had arrived and after ten years of struggle it was time to finish it.

Flaming torches illuminated the stone chamber and sending flickering shadows across the walls and into its corners. Like past hideouts and bunkers of the dark lord, that his forces had found, bodies lay sprawled against the walls and body past lay scattered across the floor. All the bodies showed evidence of prolonged torture and no-one amongst his allies ever doubted that if they were captured that they would be spared a similar fate. Everyone new how Voldemort had his fun, his pursuit of power had stripped his soul and sanity from him.

'Of course he had tried his best too,' he thought with a dark chuckle recalling the glee he had felt as he had destroyed the hidden pieces of Voldemort's soul. He was sure having parts of his soul destroyed was the most painful feeling the dark lord had felt in his life.

"Potter," the dark lord hissed, his snake like face twisted in an eerie facsimile of confidence, "I hear you have been walking down some very dark paths."

Harry's eyes flickered as the doors slammed shut behind him and the surviving inner circle subtly separated Dumbledore and Ron from him leaving no doubt that he would be facing the dark lord alone. No-one had started fighting yet but the tension in the air was thick as both sides prepared for it.

"For the leader of the light, a Wizard professed to be greater than Dumbledore, your magic feels very dark indeed. Are you seeking to replace me boy?"

Harry made sure that his mind was firmly occluded as he stood facing the dark lord. The taunts meant nothing to him and they both new that to try to wield the blackest of magics while influenced by emotion could have unsuspecting and potentially damaging consequences.

Not that the dark lord cared, Voldemort barely retained any of his humanity and none of his sanity so he had little to lose. It seemed strange that he was ignoring Dumbledore's presence however, what was he up to?

Besides, it was no secret that he wielded some very dark magic's on occasion in his running of this war. But then, the ministry itself had instituted the use of the supposedly forbidden three. How pathetic that the dark lord would try to resort to taunts. 'Let his magic do the talking for him,' Harry though as he waited for the dark lord to make the first move.

"Do you believe you have the power?" Voldemort hissed powerfully lurching from his throne in a signal for the battle to start.

Voldemort's silent incantations did not allow him much time to avoid the bright beam of sickly purple light and he wasn't surprised that he didn't recognise the curse. He had always understood that Voldemort's knowledge of the dark arts was broader than his own. He was relying on the fact that his was deeper though, far deeper.

Harry immediately began returning the offensive pressure on the dark lord though a constant barrage of spells, whilst beginning to weave protective ruins around his position in air born and reactive defensive screen. The barrage was just a distraction until he had his runic screen in place but if even one hit then the dark lord faced a very painful death as his bones turned to lead, or his blood boiled. He also made sure he included some of the darker pain and core draining curses he knew as well.

Setting up a static defensive runic screen was only a tactic that would work because of the goblin anti-aperation wards that locked the castle and its grounds down so tight that any form of magical transportation was impossible. Normally he imagined that the dark lord and he would play a dangerous game of cat and mouse, placing trap and counter trap, instituting ambushes and just trying to overpower each other but then this duel was far from normal.

Harry winced as the wall behind him exploded into sharp chips that flayed the skin from the side of his face. A stray curse from Ron and Dumbledore's fight with the surviving inner circle no doubt, but he couldn't afford a misstep or any distractions in a fight with someone of Voldemort's power and skills so he fought on.

He had to trust that Dumbledore and Ron were able to handle Voldemort's surviving inner circle.

His completed defensive runic screen flared to life, the floating screen would help in deflecting some of Voldemort's lesser spells cutting down on the density of fire he had to deal with while also helping to enhance his own abilities enough so that he could barely match the dark lord. His earlier fights and fatigued muscles were coming back to haunt him and his magical core was depleting itself at a dangerous rate. If the battle continued to be so one-sided he would need to break out his ace in a hole but doing so in front of Dumbledore and Weasly almost guaranteed permanent Dark Lord status.

Harry watched as his runes fared and slowly dissipated under the dark lords barrage and shook his head in frustration at being so overmatched even after all his training and magical shortcuts. It wasn't a hard decision to make. He would be disappearing after Voldemort's death so it hardly matted what the sheep in the wizarding world thought of him. Besides, after taking down the last dark lord he doubted many would be keen to take him on, dark or not.

Frustrated as he was, the challenge had been as exiting as he had anticipated and he was disappointed that he would have to end it so soon.

Quickly conjuring a swarm of wasps and banishing them into Voldemort's Battle armour to give him some breathing room for what he had planned, he started pouring his magic into small, almost invisible scars that covered his body.

Years of trawling through dark libraries and sorting through even darker memories from stored pensive's had given him access to some very old and powerful knowledge. But none were as ancient or as powerful as that found in the tome that held schematics for the dark runes of power, runes that could potentially ascend a wizard to godhood for a price, a terrible price that ordinarily he would not even consider paying. The tome had stunk of dark magic even to his tainted hands, but in his current conflict with Voldemort, that had not deterred him in pursuing the knowledge or the power that they could grant him.

The use of the runes of power subjected a wizard to incredible pain, enough to drive the wizard mad, quickly stripping his sanity from him even as it boosted his power to unheard of heights. It was for this reason that the runes had fallen out of favour by dark wizards. What was the use of power unless you were sane enough to use it effectively and enjoy its rewards? Still, although the pain limited their use, for desperate situations such as his it was ideal. So he had spent years carving the runes and assorted designs of power into his flesh with a ritual knife that oozed dark magic, deeply enough in some places to touch bone, all in the name of power.

The wounds healed almost completely, without more than thin almost invisible scars, but when he poured his magic into the runes to activate them, the bloody festering wounds that they had once been opened once again, and the dark magic created by the runes spilled over from his core and lay heavy in the air. He had only needed to use them once before and he had left no witnesses to the demon he had ultimately become.

While Voldemort was dealing with the distraction of the wasps and eliminating the last of his protective screen Harry let magic flood into the runes of magic that covered his body.

Dark magic filled the room as the runes activated across his body and blacked and bloody festering wounds in the shape of ancient runic designs opened up on his visible and covered skin, the dark patterns that now adorned his skin seemed to swallow what little light was provided by the still flaming torches and the shadows flickered more furiously against the walls as the feel of dark magic became suffocating in its intensity.

Only his high pain threshold prevented him from crying out at the pain of the runes but the power, the euphoric feel of being, even for a moment, a god amongst mortals was glorious. The temptation to give into the madness was always there but he refused to give into that seductive path least he end up the twisted shell that Voldemort had. Instead he harnessed the power to his will and directed it, to destroy all in his path.

"This is the end," he hissed, half in pain half in savage glee as he pushed a beam of pure magic at the dark lord, not even bothering to shape it into specific curses. The brutal power would be harder to counter and just as effective at destroying the twisted and soulless shell. "You have lost," he would not miss and would be surprised if the wall behind him survived intact, despite the wards.

Worryingly, Voldemort didn't even try to avoid or shield himself from the malevolent and visibly boiling burst of dark magic. Instead a cruel grin lit up the insane dark lord's face and he merely commented, "no. I've already won." It was his final words as he was demolished by the very dark magic that had created him. Not even a fine mist of blood remained.

Allowing the runes of power to fade and withdraw from across his skin, once again laying dormant for when he needed to call them again, Harry sighed in relief as the accompanying pain faded. It was finally over. More than that, he had proven his strength and vindicated his aggressive stance in running the war to the lowly fools that opposed his running of the war.

His relief was short lived however, as he felt the combined magic's of Weasly and Dumbledore slam him into the wall before letting him fall unceremoniously to the floor of Voldemort's throne room.

'Why?' he raged as the betrayal flooded his veins like fire. For ten years he had fought for them, sacrificed more than anyone would know for THEM and now….THIS.

Betrayed.

Like a dog, a mere tool. No longer, now he would fight for HIMSELF.

Harry Potter, poster child of the light, war wizard, general of the combined Brittany alliance of magical creatures against the dark and finally the eternal vanquisher of Lord Voldemort, greatest dark lord in history roared in rage as he pushed himself up from the stone floor, preparing to fight for his life against an old friend and mentor only to stare at his surroundings in confusion.

He had felt no strange magic's, seen no evidence of any rituals or sensed any sort of spatial or temporal dislocation and yet he was not were he once was. Instead of defending himself against the traitors Dumbledore and Weasly he stood in some kind of dark cavern facing a large horned demon with some foreign magic attempting to clammily dampen his power. Clearly he had been entombed with the intention that he would die in this dark place, ripped apart by demons with his magic firmly restrained.

It was a dark revenge that Voldemort had wrought with the help of Dumbledore and Weasly, to think that his betrayal would come from those two. Still, such magic's were useless when matched against the brutal strength of the runes of power and he would measure his strength against any demon, he thought viciously. Voldemort's last words suddenly rang hollow in his ears, "I have already won."

Processing his new surroundings quickly, he leapt into a defensive stance, hand reaching for his spare wand even as his magic flared out, re-activated the runes of power that were carved darkly into his skin. Summoning them again would be hard and he risked insanity but his own magical reserves were too low after his dual with Voldemort and he had no idea how powerful the horned, scythe wielding demon facing him was. He would take no chances.

In his magically depleted state, he had been lucky not to have died and if he had not controlled the runes of power then he most likely would have, magical exhaustion was could be fatal. 'Not all benefits of the runes required them to be active' he thought grimly as he considered his new situation.

He couldn't have planned his betrayal and his ambush better if he had been the one planning the betrayal. Now he found himself in a magically enhanced tomb, magically depleted and facing a demon that he doubted he could beat in his current state without going insane from drawing too much power from the runes carved gruesomely into his skin.

With the foreign magic pressing relentlessly on what little remained of his reserves after his final battle with Voldemort, a battle with the horned demon with the scythe would prove formidable. But he had been in worse situations and had a few tricks up his sleeves yet. He would prove that no mere betrayal could stop him, he would find his way back and exact a terrible but well deserved revenge.

Yes, no one turned on him like that and lived. The ministry and that damnable incompetent order had earned itself something far worse than a mere dark lord. It had earned the enmity of Harry Potter. Voldemort might be dead but his friend's latest actions clearly demonstrated that not all of his enemies were gone.

Not taking his eyes off the demon, he started chanting and warding the space around him, the light swallowing carvings pulsed darkly across his skin and Harry fell deeper into his defensive stance in preparation for the demons assault.

"Stop young mage," the demon boomed slamming the butt of his scythe into the rocky floor. "You bear the look of one recently betrayed, it is a burden we both share."

Harry didn't stop his chanting or the stringing of his defensive wards with more offensive fortifications around his position. In his weakened state, attacking was not an option, let the demon waste his strength attacked him. Let him test the strength of his screen, 'perhaps it would be enough' Harry thought doubtfully as he studied the demon.

"I was once the premier warrior of the greatest dungeon keeper in the land. He did much to extend the influence of all keepers in this land before he was betrayed and killed by an alliance of the lesser keepers. I was tortured and imprisoned in this tomb as a reward for my loyal service. For eons I have rotted."

The demon howled in anger and frustration and Harry was sure that the majority of the wizarding world would have long fled in fear. But he had seen too much, done too much in his attempt to defeat the darkest lord in history to be intimidated by such a being and his story of betrayal struck a chord.

The similarities between their stories were striking and Harry felt that with his fortified position was as strong as he could make it with the foreign magic conflicted with his own darker magic's he could afford to listen to the demons story. But not for too much longer, the pain from his runes was almost overwhelming his reason and madness beckoned. He would have to end this soon.

"But they have made a mistake or perhaps fate has granted me one last chance. Behind you, lies a dungeon heart. One that a mage of your power would have little trouble binding to his will. With that we may both be able to seek our revenge."

Harry's eyes narrowed in suspicion. In all his searches and delving into the mysterious and showy world of dark arts, and Dumbledore's tuition in Light arts he had never heard of demons such as the one in front of him or of dungeon hearts much less dungeon keepers.

What he had read and learned was that humanoid demons contained the greatest powers and the most cunning. For all he knew it could all be a trick to distance him from his fortified position and yet the demon had not attacked while he had been setting up his wards and if it was true that the demon had been imprisoned and tortured by beings even stronger than it was….

Harry shuddered at the thought.

With his power flagging it was time to take a chance.

Backing further into the dark cavern and allowing his runes of power to fade in relief, he made his way to the dull stone behind him. He could not feel any magic coming from it and would normally have mistaken it for nothing more than a strangely shaped stone.

Laying his hand cautiously onto the artefact and gently probing it with a thin stream of magic, Harry hissed as he felt a sharp pain in his hand as his blood was extracted into the stone. He had enough experience with unknown artefacts to know that wasn't a good sign. Prepared or not, he had just activated something.

A gentle pull on his magical core followed and Harry, eyes still firmly fixed on the demon in front of him made sure that his mind was occluded as tightly as he could make it.

The demon grinned triumphantly as the stone slowly lit up and Harry found foreign memories trying to slip though his mental shields. Having experience with similar memory saving relics he quickly constructed an isolated region within his mental shields where he could trap the memories and review them at his leisure.

He had seen what happened to people that immediately assimilated memories and their associated experiences directly into their magical core without isolating them first. It was hardly ever pretty, if the memories were good memories then the damage was limited, a small personality change was common. For darker memories, it could well drive the wizards insane; more than one dark wizard had been created by originally pure wizards stumbling across the reservoirs of dark memories.

It wasn't possession in the normal sense, but the rewriting of their personality with an influx of memories of a different person. With the images of epic battles, vast dungeons and strange creature slipping through his mental shields, he was positive that the memories contained in this dungeon heart were both ancient and contained vast knowledge and potentially decades or centuries of it judging by the strength in which they were straining his mental barriers.

He was glad he had isolated the memories first, he wasn't sure who or what he would become if he was suddenly overwhelmed by decades or centuries of memories that were not his own.

Harry grinned and he begun to felt his magical reserves recharging through some sort of bond that had developed between his magical core and the dungeon heart and it intrigued him enough to start flicking through the memories that were still flowing from the stone artefact.

Glancing warily at the feral and blood thirsty expression that adorned the face of the demon, Harry delved deeper into the vast reservoir of knowledge and memories that remained isolated from his core personality. It would take weeks or months to trawl through them all and reorganise them to integrate the knowledge while remaining himself but that was the way it would happen. Some things were just not worth the risks of rushing.

Quickly skimming for information on the Dungeon Heart, the demon in front of him and the Dungeon keeper Harry could not help but chuckle darkly.

Vengeance would be his. There was little doubt.

Vengeance would be his.


End file.
